


for worse or for better

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma sets out to prove a psychological theory regarding making men fall in love with her, she ends up choosing Fitz to be her "subject". Little does she know that Fitz has become the unfortunate pawn of two friends, and a bet to see if he can get a girl to hate him by the end of ten dates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for worse or for better

**Author's Note:**

> For lifetimeofreading as part of the "A Whole New World" more than 5k fs exchange over on tumblr. They requested a "How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days" AU, but I've never seen the movie, so using summaries from friends and the trailer, I attempted to craft a story. I hope you enjoy it!

_1 (He Lies About His Career)_

“The truth is, its basic psychology.”

“Flirting is _basic psychology,_ are you kidding me?”

“No, not flirting, it’s the feeling of falling in love, the actions and correlating reactions that fool a person into believing that they are what the mass media and card companies like to call _love_. When in reality, the concept of love is just psychological manipulation.”

“You know, Jemma, I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.”

She laughs. Typical Skye. Before flagging down their bartender and ordering them both another round of drinks, this time on her. She ten waits until the drinks have been set down, and Skye’s made one of those weird moaning noises she always makes after the first sip, before resuming their conversation.

“My point was,” Jemma explains, ignoring Skye’s exasperated eye roll, “If I wanted to, I could convince anyone man or woman in this bar that they were interested in me, a couple of dates and they’d be confessing their love for me. All it takes is applying a few very simple psychological tactics and suddenly romance is in the air.”

“But what about fate? What about that second your eyes meet with someone and you just know they’re going to be the one that you take home with you,” Skye asks. Her eyes scanning the bar as if the very phenomenon that she had been talking about might suddenly occur. The search must be hopeless for a minute later her eyes are back on Jemma once more, as she asks, “What about that?”

“Love at first sight,” Jemma snorts. “That’s what you said about the last guy you dated and he turned out to be on the run from the CIA.”

She grimaces and they both know that Jemma has spoken true.

There’s a lull in the conversation which they both fill by taking long drinks to block out the memories of bad past experiences, before Skye speaks up again. “So just let me get this straight, according to your thesis, you could pick some guy out at random right now in this bar, and make him say _I love you_ after what three days?”

“Ten,” Jemma corrects. “Based on my case studies, ten times seems to be the lucky number. First meeting counts as one, and by our tenth time meeting up he’ll said the _dreaded L word_.”

“Okay this I need to see,” Skye says, a grin on her face that Jemma knows instantly spells bad news. “Bartender, let’s get my girl here a round of drinks, because she’s about to find herself a man.”

\---

“I’m a writer, love,” Hunter says, slinging his arm around Fitz’s shoulder. Fitz tries to shrug him off, but when Hunter gets into wingman mode there’s no stopping him. “Actually we both are. We write the important things, the kind of news content the _world_ needs to see. I’m a bit like Clark Kent, while Fitz here is-“

“Are you boys seriously doing this again,” comes a sharp, distinctly female voice, and at once the charming co-eds that they had been flirting with seem to make themselves scarce.

Victoria Hand has a way of intimidating even the most strong willed of people.

And she just so happens to be Fitz’s boss.

Hunter’s too, but he sort of lives with Victoria’s girlfriend and has become immune to her scare tactics. A point proved by the wide grin on his face when he turns to see her. Loudly exclaiming, “Vic! How could you!” for all the bar’s patrons to hear. 

“Somebody has to stop you boys from lying to every innocent woman who walks into the bar.”

“Technically we weren’t-“ Fitz starts, only to stop as her glare turns towards him.

The thing was, they really were writers.

Something that always sounded amazing to Fitz’s ears when he said the words aloud. _I’m a writer_ just had a certain ring to it, something his coworker understood. Usually they never elaborated beyond that, or if they did it was all embellishment and nonsense.

The truth of the matter was that the last article Fitz wrote was more of a _quiz_ than an article. And it involved choosing between varieties of things to see which _pasta noddle_ represented your love life.

Fitz had worked very hard on it.

Certainly he wouldn’t mind becoming a serious journalist one day, just not yet.

Until that day came he would happily spend his afternoons finding the appropriate gifs to go with his latest vague recap of this week’s television premiers.

“Excuse me,” a different – softer and much more pleasant – female voice interrupts their conversation. Fitz is all too happy to turn away from Victoria’s glare to instead focus on someone else.

Especially since this someone else is grinning at Fitz like he’s the most interesting person in the bar.

“Hi – I mean, hello,” Fitz says, cringing at himself. He’s never been good at this sort of thing, _this_ was why Hunter usually broke the ice for him.

For some reason though, she doesn’t seem initially put off. In fact, her smile doesn’t dim even a fraction, as she says, “Hi, I’m Jemma, and I thought I overheard your friend saying that you were a writer.”

“Why yes, yes I am.”

_2 ( He Lets You Pay For Dates)_

Fitz stares down at the list on his phone for probably the tenth time since he left the _office_ that afternoon.

The list was actually an article written by one of his fellow writers: _Ten Signs the Guy You’re Dating Is A Douchebag._

Bobbi Morse was known for writing articles that were subtle jabs at her ex-husband (and Fitz’s close friend) Lance Hunter – and when the inevitable argument between them came up, Fitz was of course dragged in the middle of it. By this point it was to be expected.

What wasn’t to be expected was the outcome. A bet, made between his two friends, about whether these signs were really turnoffs or just Bobbi being nitpicky.

A bet that Fitz ended up being the victim of.

(Based purely on the fact that according to Bobbi, Fitz had already done one of the things on the list. That is _lied about his career_ , and Fitz’s arguments that technically he had embellished had won him no points in the argument.)

The thing was, the girl he’d met at the bar two days ago, didn’t deserve this. Jemma was a nice girl, the type of girl Fitz might have thought about bringing home to meet his mum, and she was obviously attractive. Becoming a victim of his friends’ nonsense may have been something Fitz was used to, but dragging other people into it just left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Which was probably why he was having a hard time stomaching the cup of coffee that he had picked out for his next _date_ with Jemma. Two sips and the bitter drink already tasted bitterer than it really ought to have tasted.

There’s a sound of the bell ringing, and he instantly looks to the door hoping that Jemma is the one that’s come in, but it’s a group of sorority girls from the local university instead. All giggling and staring at their cellphones.

An action Fitz copies a moment later.

The list, which he reads for an eleventh time, is as follows:

1\. He lies about his career

2\. He lets you pay for dates

3\. He likes to talk, but never listens

4\. He backs out of plans

5\. He refuses to be affectionate in public

6\. He only says ‘ _I love you’_ after you’ve slept together

7\. He always wants to know who you are texting/calling

8\. He doesn’t refer to you as his _girlfriend_

9\. He calls you while drunk

10\. There’s at least one Taylor Swift song that could perfectly describe your relationship

(Only nine more to go.)

\---

“I’m sorry I’m late,” are the first words out of Jemma spot as she settles into the seat across from her date. Though perhaps _subject_ should be the better word for this, since there was an almost certain likelihood that Jemma would be using these interactions on the final draft of her thesis.

Turning a challenge from Skye into an academic pursuit was a practice that Jemma had long gotten the hang of.

Jemma pauses, glancing at his clearly untouched cup of coffee. “You haven’t been waiting too long have you?”

“Ah, not – no, I haven’t been waiting long,” Fitz replies, seeming almost nervous as he tucks his phone into the pocket of his jacket. That nervousness had been something that Jemma had observed at the bar a few days before, it was sort of endearing, the way he wasn’t falling over himself to appear cool and collected or ‘emotionally unavailable’.

Perhaps had she met him under different circumstances Jemma might have really enjoying him asking her out. Now her only hope was that when this was all said and done he wouldn’t completely hate her and might be willing to be friends?

“And I wouldn’t have minded – waiting, that is. It’d be nice to wait on you.” He seems to pause after immediately talking, as though his brain had moved ahead of his words. “I mean…”

“It’s alright,” Jemma says quickly, reaching across the table to press her hands against his, “I’m here now and that’s what matters.”

He gives her a little laugh at that, and it’s only then that she realizes how silly everything they’re saying is going.

“Why was this so much easier when we were drunk,” Jemma asks, with a slight groan her head slipping forward to land with a small _thunk_ against the top of the table.

This time his laugh is more pronounced. She can’t help but notice that it’s a nice laugh.

“It might have had something to do with the – the ah, uh, music?”

“Mhmm yes,” she says, slowly lifting her head to smile at him, “The dismal elevator music they play in these café’s isn’t nearly inspiring enough.”

“Exactly!”

“Well, why don’t I grab myself a drink and we can get out of here,” Jemma says, reaching into her purse. This is the part – as all her psychological studies indicate – that Fitz should insist that he’ll buy her drink. But he does no such thing.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he already has a drink of his own.

“Give me a minute?”

“Sure, sure,” he nods at her. She can sense his eyes on her as she stands up to place her order. Though she doesn’t figure out the reason for his gaze until she’s inline and he calls out to her. “Oh Jemma, could you get me one of those muffins while you’re up there? The ones with the bananas?”

 

 

 

 

_3 (He likes to talk, but never listens)_

Jemma tilts her head back, listening to the sounds of the park around her. Fitz had called for another date, after their coffee date turned walk through the city, and Jemma had chosen somewhere more scenic this time.

A picnic in the park, just intimate enough that that it should inspire feelings and wants for something more, but also public enough that they wouldn’t be able to go that far. It was all about teasing, basic psychological (just as she had explained to Skye while the other woman had busied herself with picking out Jemma’s outfit for the date). She was almost like a stripper in that sense, gave just enough away to make her prey want more, but not too much that they never came back.

It really was just science.

A voice saying, “You look incredible,” breaks her out of her pensive thoughts. Jemma cracks one eye open to look at him, perhaps she would have to thank Skye for the fashion advice later.

“Thank you,” she grins back at him. Before patting the spot on the ground next to her, a spot that Fitz takes easily.

“I brought drinks,” he says, and for a moment she thinks he means beers. Until he opens his backpack and pulls out two coke bottles with familiar red labels. “They had my name, see,” and this time he tilts the bottle so she can read _Leo_ off the side, “and well – closest they had to you was Jenna, but I figured.”

She laughs, and takes the _Jenna_ bottle from him. “Close enough. You know, I’ve had students I TA for call me Jenna before, seems N’s and M’s are interchangeable for them.”

“You’d figure the kids going there would know better, prestigious school and all?”

His tone is a bit off, and for a second she wrinkles her nose. “Why do I have a feeling you went to our rival?”

“I didn’t,” he says quickly and curly. “Didn’t go to yours either.”

“Where do you hail from then?”

“I don’t,” he says, fiddling with the wrapper on his coke.

“Oh sorry, I just assumed-“

“No no I- I went to school, of course – not local though,” Fitz shakes his head, “And I didn’t end up getting my degree, so doesn’t matter in the end, yeah?”

She brings the coke up to her lips, and raises her eyebrows in a subtle invitation for him to continue.

(It’s a scientifically proven fact that men like to talk about themselves, Jemma would know she’s a specialist in this sort of thing, and Fitz does exactly as expected.)

“I had wanted to finish school, but things got in the way. Money problems, that’s everyone’s excuse, so it can be mine too I suppose. Truth is I got – complacent, isn’t the right word, more like _bored_.”

“I know that feeling,” Jemma admits.

Which gets a nod from Fitz, before he continues. “I stopped showing up for my engineering lectures, figured I was smarter than the professors. Guess they taught new material when I wasn’t paying attention. Could’ve – should’ve taken the classes over I – I planned to, everyone does,” Fitz explains, “But my mum got sick – she’s fine now – was just a little thing. Except, I got worried, drove out to see her one night, and it was raining.”

He stops talking. Almost as though the next words were going to be painful, and Jemma wants to speak up, to tell him that he doesn’t have to say anymore. But she’s too curious to force the words out.

“You might notice sometimes my words don’t – don’t come out right. It’s ‘cause of the accident. The driver was American, visiting on vacation – political family paid for all the treatment I could after I they got me out of the car.” His eyes pinch shut for a moment. “There’s a disconnect now. I know what I want to say, I can write it all down, but the words come out wrong and with therapy after – school just didn’t matter anymore.”

She’s unsure what to say. The fact that he felt comfortable enough to confess all of that to her speaks of his character. They may have only just started to get to know each other, but she instantly felt a connection to Fitz. A connection that felt so much clearer after hearing his life story.

Saying “I’m sorry,” just seems so weak in return.

“It’s not your fault.”

“No,” she agrees, “But I care about you.”

It hits her then, how true her words are as she speaks them.

When did that happen?

\---

“You need to stop freaking out and pacing. At this rate, you’ll wear a hole in the carpet and Izzy will kick me out. I’m not build for homelessness, Fitz, you know that.”

He gives Hunter an annoyed look, but falls back onto his friend’s (or well Izzy’s) couch instead of pacing anymore.

“I can’t believe I just – and everything, god it was fucking everything – I want to die. You’d kill me, yeah, we’re mates, you’d – if I asked you to.”

“Of course,” Hunter says, “Cross my heart.”

“Good good.” That was exactly what Fitz had needed to hear. Or what he had thought he wanted to hear.

“Call Bobbi for me, please – just call off the bet – I’ll pay her back for you. Whatever it is, I can’t – god, Hunter, I have another date with her Thursday and I can’t – not after this mistake – bloody hell. What am I going to do?”

 

_4 (He backs out of plans)_

He squints at his laptop screen, willing to his quiz result to sound catchier.

Things like these were enough to make him want to quit his job, but there had been no way for Fitz to say no when Victoria had stuck a post-it on the screen of his laptop (when Fitz had busy trying to get the vending machine to work) telling him of his next quiz theme.

The words _What Is Your Ideal Dick Shape Based On Horoscope_ stares back at him from the screen.

His mother would be so proud.

“I quit,” Fitz says to the empty air, wishing it were all that easy.

He still has to finish the quiz, but at least for now he can get up for a bit, stretch his legs and maybe see if his brain wants to work. A quick glance out of the one window the tiny living area of his apartment has shows him rain beating against the pane, which means no going outside. A jog to get his creative energy flowing is off the table.

But snacks, particularly warm stacks are back on.

He moves into the kitchen, planning to throw open the fridge but stopping as his eyes settles on the phone that he had tossed down onto the counter top when he had been making tea earlier. Fitz presses the home button watching to when the screen lights up if he has any missed messages.

There’s a bunch of tweets, random people mentioning him that he ignores and Hunter’s usual whining nonsense. No message from Jemma.

Fitz had texted her as soon as he’d seen Victoria’s post it, apologetic for having to cancel on their dinner date. (Only realizing later that he was actually going to be able to cross something off the list because of this.)

She hadn’t replied since then. Not that he really expected her too at this point.

He’ll plan a better apology, maybe call her, after he finished this project.

Then again, if she really was gone, then that was it? The bet was over, he could go back to living his life with nothing more than his friend’s leftovers going home with him.

It was weird how a taste of this – a taste of something that he wasn’t even sure he wanted – made what he used to have feel so empty.

Life was weird like that.

A soft chime brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks down at the phone in his hand, to see that the very woman he had been thinking about had texted him. It takes a second to open it up, and when he does it takes him a moment of staring at the screen to really process her words.

_I’m downstairs. Your buzzer system is broken? Let me up!_

\---

This was a risk, but a risk Jemma had hoped that would pay off.

Judging by the way Fitz had eagerly let her up, and eyed the takeout in her hands like it was the greatest thing in the world, Jemma was pretty sure she was right. They hadn’t met up since the incident in the park and while things had seemed to smooth out after Fitz talked about his accident. There was a part of Jemma that had worried that _that_ was the very reason he had canceled on their dinner date.

It was silly to feel paranoid, but she couldn’t help it.

“Tell me what you’re working on,” Jemma says, before taking a bite of her orange chicken, “Sometimes talking about it helps, right? I usually go off on my friend about my thesis until she wants to cry, this can’t be that different?”

Fitz laughs. “The difference between your psych thesis and my articles is more than you image.”

“Lay it on me then. What is the great and wonderful writer known as _Leopold_ Fitz writing tonight?”

She notices briefly a color appear at the tips of his ears and along his cheek bones. For a second Jemma’s certain that her compliment has hit it’s mark, mentally applauding herself for a job well done.

That is until he says, “It’s an article on the correlation between dick sizes and star signs,” all in a rush, as if he could eat his words.

She hadn’t been expected that.

Jemma sits there in stunned silence for a second, before saying, “You’re joking.”

“No – I, well – it’s more like a quiz.”

“I thought you said you were a writer?”

“I am,” Fitz insists, “But I’m guessing you assumed something more like the Times or – or the local papers not this? Sorry I wasn’t completely – I embellish somethings, I mean, we all do – don’t we?”

“Yes, I supposed we do, don’t we?”

“That sounds like a psych thing,” Fitz says, pointing a chopstick at her.

“Trust me, you don’t want me to give you this lesson now – wait, why are you nodding? Oh my god, Fitz!”

 

_5  (He refuses to be affectionate in public)_

Going out to the bar with friends was always fun.

 Sure, usually Jemma spent the night trying to get Skye to stop contemplating flashing the bartender in hopes of getting free drinks (a usually unsuccessful endeavor). Tonight was something different than the usual.

Technically it could be considered a _double date_ , for Jemma had been dragged out by Skye and low and behold, just like the first time she met the guys. There back in the corner booth was a familiar Fitz (and his vaguely familiar friend that Jemma now knew to be _Hunter_ ).

There was something about him that looked vaguely familiar, but when she had mentioned it before he had simply laughed and said that he had “One of those faces,” before turning his charms to Skye.

Meanwhile Fitz… She casts a glance at him to see if he’s relaxed in the slightest, but one look is more than enough to tell that he hasn’t.

She wasn’t sure if this was lingering awkwardness caused by the whole _penis horoscope_ situation from the other night, or something else. Not knowing was, perplexing to say the least.

Jemma had tried to encourage some sort of reaction from him, leaning into his side in a way that would have prompted any other guy to sling his arms over her shoulders, but Fitz just sat there, gripping his drink like his life depending on it and barely making two word responses.

“Everything alright,” she asks, voice low and quiet so that only Fitz can hear.

“Fine,” he says, quickly and briskly.

“You sure?”

This time she just gets a little nod. “I’m going to get another drink, you want one,” he asks, but doesn’t wait for her reply, before he’s up out of the booth and off to the bar.

Her eyes follow him as he leaves, not realizing anyone else had noticed until Hunter speaks up, “Don’t worry about Fitz, he does that sometimes, gets lost in his head. He’ll be back to normal soon enough.”

\---

This is all Hunter’s fault. Fitz had been in the middle of ranting to him, (about this stupid bet and how awful Fitz was feeling) and then like she could read his mind, Jemma had appeared.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her company. In fact, if he was being honest he really enjoyed her company, quite possibly more than he enjoyed the company of the other people he usually called his friends. There was something about her, something warm and bubbly, that just made him feel better when she was around.

That was until he remembered why he had even called her back for a second date, and the guilt set in.

He felt like he was going to be sick, and the gin and tonic he’d just downed wasn’t helping.

“Fitz?”

He looks up from the glass he had just set on the table, to give Jemma a weak smile. This wasn’t her fault. He shouldn’t be so cold to her. (Or maybe he should? After all, there were perimeters of a bet that he was supposed to be following.)

Fitz casts a glance back at their vacated booth, feeling for a second as though there had to be eyes on him, but turning back to Jemma when he could see their friends were _occupied_ with each other’s presences.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, acting instinctively.

It’s an incredible relief when she grins at him and says, “Yours or mine?”

 

_6 (He only says ‘I love you’ after you’ve slept together)_

Fitz means to invite her up for coffee, to apologize for having been a total _dick_ at the bar, but they barely make it into the door before he’s pressed against the frame being kissed within an inch of his life. It’s surprising to say the least, but it is a surprise that Fitz is more than willing to go with.

Only breaking apart from Jemma long enough to ask, “Bed or couch?”

Her cheeks are perfectly flushed, lips just a little bit pinker before (when he runs his tongue over his own lips he can taste her lip gloss lingering behind), with eyes lighting up as they lock onto his. She takes a moment, blinks once at him, then once more, before the words all seem to process.

When she does speak it’s with a calm and collection voice, very different from the woman who had pressed him up against the door a moment before.

“I suppose a bed would be preferable.”

“Right, well then we just – just need to-“

“Fitz breathe,” Jemma says, her voice light and friends, “You’re okay with this right? I’m not rushing things.”

“No – god, no. I thought about this before – I mean, when you – when we,” he groans, no doubt his words were only making it worse. “Ignore me.”

“I’d much rather sleep with you,” Jemma says bluntly. He loves that about her, how easy it is for her to be blunt, and as the word registers in his mind it’s more than just her bluntness that he’s into to.

“Please.”

That’s all it takes, and Jemma’s kissing him again, like their conversation never happened. She pulls him out of the entry way and back into his bedroom, as though she’s done this plenty of times before. Sure fingers moving to remove his jacket, before going to the zipper of her own dress.

Later he’ll blame the drinks, or Hunter who made him look at the stupid list in the bar, for the words that fall from his lips, at the sight of her standing naked at the foot of his bed.

(It’ll really just be an excuse.)

“I love you.”

\---

“He said it. I win,” Jemma says in a fierce whisper.

She’s currently sitting on the floor in Fitz’s bathroom, wearing nothing but her bra and panties, while her phone is cradled between her ear and her shoulder. Skye, on the other end of the line, sounds groggy and unhappy to have been woken up at two in the morning, so clearly her night had not been as exciting as Jemma’s.

“It doesn’t count if he sad it after sex,” Skye finally says.

“That wasn’t a prerequisite of the-“

“We both know it doesn’t count. Anything said in the heat of the moment is just guys taking to your breasts.”

“Fitz isn’t like the other guys,” Jemma says. Even though the second the words are off her lips, the scientist inside of tries to rebel.

Why couldn’t Fitz be a statistical anomaly?

“Were you naked?”

“That’s not-“ Jemma insists, “But yes, I might have just taken off my dress.”

“My point exactly. He doesn’t love you, Jem, he loves your perfectly perky C cups.”

“They are pretty nice, aren’t they?”

“I’m going back to bed.”

 

_7 (He always wants to know who you are texting/calling)_

It’s about the fifth time her phone has gone off during their brunch and Jemma’s already feeling bad about it.

“I can turn it off,” she insists, after snapping the phone open and closing it again. It’s Bakshi calling, one of her fellow graduate students. There’s a lecture series he’s running that he’s been pressuring her to take a part in, but so far she’s been lucky enough to put him off.

“I don’t mind if you take the call,” Fitz insists.

That’s sweet of him, sweeter than she would have expected.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jemma assures him, “I know what he wants and I already know my answer.”

“Who?”

“Another grad student,” she says dismissively, “Not important. He just wants me to give a lecture at this party next Friday about my thesis. Nothing serious.”

“That sounds serious,” Fitz insists.

“I mean, I don’t mind lecturing. I just don’t like what comes after, the drinking and the schmoozing, and the usual cocktail after party.”

Fitz seems to understand that, nodding a bit.

 “I could go with you,” he offers, after a moment, “And we could ditch – after your lecture, of course – go to a bar – real drinks?”

“I think I’d like that.”

\---

“Random question,” Fitz says, looking up from his work computer.

“Yes, I’m using a cat gif,” Hunter answers instinctively not looking up from his own computer, “Cat gifs are always funny.”

“No, not that.”

This time, the other man does bother tearing his gaze away from the probably very important article that he’s writing. “What’s up?”

“What does one normally wear to a cocktail patry?”

 

 

_8 (He doesn’t refer to you as his girlfriend)_

He feels out of place instantly. Not only is he extremely under dressed for Jemma’s lecture and drinks, but he’s only understood about a third of what she had to say up there.

That alone is enough to make him wish he could go back to school. Sure, he’d never intended to be a psychologist like her, but even with an engineering degree a little bit more of her words would have made sense.

Still, he plasters a smile on her face when she’s finished. Before telling her, “You were amazing.”

Jemma just smiles back at him, “Of course I was. Now, come on, let me introduce you to your friends.”

“I’ve already met Skye,” Fitz reminds her.

“I have _other_ friends.”

“Really now?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Okay fellow students, but we get drinks from time to time and talk psych theory, so that means that they count.”

“Whatever you say Jemma, I-“ Fitz’s next words freeze in his throat. As his eyes pan around the people near them only to stop at the sight of a familiar blonde in a far too short red dress. She’s talking with some guy he doesn’t know with dark skin and an almost sinister smile, but he’d recognize her anywhere. “Bobbi?”

“You know Barbara,” Jemma questions, following Fitz’s line of sight, before proceeding to lead her over. “How do you two know each other?”

He should say they work together, but Bobbi only writes for them part time, when she has a chance between her studies. Though that might lead to more questions. So Fitz ends up saying, “She dated Hunter,” in a low whispered voice, before turning a smile towards the two people they were quickly approaching.

Fitz wants to ask why she’s there, but it’s too late. They’re up there too soon and Jemma is busy introducing him them. “Fitz, this is Bakshi and Barbara, who you apparently know already,” Jemma says, “And fellow intellectuals, this is Fitz, my-“

“Friend,” he cuts in quickly, “Just a friend.”

“Is that right,” Bakshi says, looking him over, but Fitz could care less about him.

Instead he focuses in on Bobbi, who suddenly looks conflicted, as she says, “Hey, do you mind if I steal Fitz away for a second?”

\---

Ever since Fitz got back he’s been weird, weirder than usual. Which is why the second her advisor steps away for a moment, Jemma drags him off to the side.

“What’s your problem,” Jemma snaps, once they’re away from the prying eyes of her collogues.

His own tone is just as brisk in reply, “Nothing. It’s _nothing_.”

“It’s not, otherwise you wouldn’t be acting like a total prat.”

“I’m not-“ Fitz stops, and shakes his head. “Even if I were – I deserve to – Jemma, you – you can’t – you’re fault.”

“You’re not making sense,” she snaps.

She can see the pain reflected on his face, the cold way he looks away from her before speaking. “I work with Bobbi.”

“So what does that,” Jemma starts, and then stops. She had thought Bobbi recognized him, the other woman had certainly dragged him away very quickly. But Jemma had no idea what they had been talking about, not until now. “Oh, no.”

“She told me – that’s why she pulled me aside. I knew – I mean, not that it was you – that she had a – a friend – fellow grad student, who was running this social experiment on a guy,” Fitz explains, “She’d mentioned it, in passing – now to know it was me. The poor guy – you all, lofty intellectuals were laughing at.”

“I would never laugh at you, Fitz, I promise,” she insist, but he just shakes his head at her.

She’d given anything for him to understand, but her explaination gets stuck in her throat.

And Fitz just walks away.

_9  (He calls you while drunk)_

Regret.

That's the emotion she's feeling. it's not one she could say she's felt before, at least not this strongly but now...  
  
She had always know that eventually the truth would have to come out, just Jemma had imagined it coming out on her own terms.  
  
Over coffee perhaps and mixed with reassurances that she still cared for him, not like this.  
  
Never like this.  
  
Her apartment feels emptier than it's ever felt before and she wants to yell until her lungs give out or drink until she can forget all of this.

Maybe build a time machine and go back to a few weeks ago, stop her from stepping up to Skye’s challenge, and instead never have gotten to know Fitz. At least then, everything wouldn’t hurt so much.

\---

He’s had a few drinks at this point, enough that he lets out a little laugh at the cheery sound of Jemma’s voicemail recording.

“Here’s the thing,” Fitz says, voice heavy over the phone line, when the tone finally sounds. “I knew something was up – figured it was – was me, ‘cause I mess up something – that’s it right, the end? Then you’re friend – you knew Bobbi – how did we never mention... How did I not know? Bobbi wasn’t there at the bar, that night we – we met, she had a date with that Clint guy? Sure you’ve heard but…” He’s getting off topic.

Fitz takes a long drink of his beer, as if that will make his thoughts clearer, it doesn’t work. “I was upset – hurt – hurt a lot when I found out. An experiment, bloody hell, Jemma. I thought we had a real connection – I hope we – that it wasn’t all faked. You’ll tell me if – you’d tell me, yeah?”

That was the worst part of it all.

He’d been pretty damn humiliated early, but midnight had rolled around and suddenly it wasn’t just the fact that Jemma had been using him for research that was upsetting. The idea that she might have only been acting the whole time, that those bright eyes might have shined his way for nothing more than a few extra pages of a theses… That was what hurt the most?

“I’m not – I haven’t been completely honest with you either I suppose,” Fitz says. “Maybe Bobbi told you – not sure, I – I left. Got an apology text, that I didn’t reply to. The point is, I was an idiot, because I got tricked into this bet by my friends, and I was being such a jerk – a real bloody arse.” He cringes at his words, but doesn’t reach for his drink this time. “The worst part is Jemma. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, or maybe it’s not time for words that serious – I just think – thought – I could fall in love with you one day. And I’d like to do that, for real. If you’re interested – you can let me know – call me back or – I don’t even know.”

Where did they go from here?

Start over, after every thing they’ve been through these past few weeks.

He’s not even sure he could.

Still, it would be worth a shot, wouldn’t it?

“I’m sorry, Jemma. For everything.”

 

_10 (there’s at least one Taylor Swift song that could perfectly describe your relationship)_

He stares down at Jemma's name on the screen, fingers hovering over the button to call her again. Fitz already knows no matter what he says it won't make any difference, the truth is out there now, and words said over an answering machine don't count for much.  
  
There's a part of him that realizes he's a bit drunk and he should probably sleep on this - no need to act irrationally - but there's another part of him that needs to see Jemma, that needs to make this right.  
  
That part ends up winning.  
  
Rather than calling her back he scrolls down his contacts until he comes with a different name, and the first thing he says when the call is connected is, "I need you to give me a ride."  
  
"Right now," Hunter asks, "Because I've got to write that TV round up article by midnight and if it's not that important -"  
  
"I need you to drive me to Jemma's - I need to - to win her back and I need you - your car."  
  
Thankfully Hunter doesn't hesitate this time. "I'll be there in fifteen, try to sober up and wear something nice."  
  
"I'd say that I owe you, but since this is all your fault in the first place..."  
  
"You're welcome."

\---

She cradles her phone between her shoulder and her head listening to Fitz's message for the fifth time since it first came in. She supposed she should have called him back, should have explained herself properly before, but for once Jemma is at a loss for words.  
  
Thankfully the sound of her apartment door being knocked on stops her thoughts from going much further than that.  
  
It's probably Skye. Jemma had texted her about the situation and while Jemma had denied her offer of ice cream and horror movies to make her feel better, Jemma should have known better than to believe that her words would have been enough to stop Skye.  
  
"One second," Jemma calls out, pushing herself up off of the couch and over to the door. She pulls it open, only to find someone who is quite obviously not Skye on the other side.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Hey - hi, I wasn't sure - if you'd be - be here. I left a message - phone message - I'm not sure if you-"  
  
"I heard it," Jemma says quietly.  
  
That shuts Fitz up, for a moment he doesn't reply either. He's silent, eyes fallen to the floor as though it's the most interesting thing in the world.  
  
Finally though he mutters, "And what did you think?"  
  
That had been exactly the answer she wasn't sure of yet, the words she could not put into motion. There's so much she wants to do: to beg for explanations, to apologize for all of this- but in the end the words that come out are the only ones that matter.  
  
"I love you too."


End file.
